


Desperate Hours

by Safraninflare



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Let Felix Grieve, Sometimes you're sad so you need to romantically best someone in combat, Swordfighting, no beta we die like the emotionally stunted swordspeople we are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 07:41:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20485283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Safraninflare/pseuds/Safraninflare
Summary: Spoilers for Azure MoonRodrigue's death saddles Felix with feelings he wasn't ready to handle, so Byleth tries to help him in the best way that she knows how.Or: Let Felix Hugo Fraldarius cry for two goddamn seconds before panning to Dimitri and his stinky coat of shame.





	Desperate Hours

_ Thwack! _

The sudden noise pulled Byleth from her thoughts as she hurried past the training grounds on her way to her quarters. The Harpstring Moon shone overhead, providing a meager beacon in that miserable dark. 

_ Thwack! _

It seemed like everything around them had been dark for months now, ever since she awoke from her five year slumber. Dimitri was no longer the bright-eyed boy she once taught, the one with the warm smile and a heart of gold. No, now he was a ghost of his former self, a phantom that haunted the monastery walls and told anyone and everyone to fuck off. 

Byleth really regretted teaching him to swear.

_ Thwack! _

She stopped in her tracks by the training grounds, her hands flying to the creator sword’s grip. Someone was in there, and Goddess knew it wasn’t Dimitri. Mercedes and Annie were out as suspects, and Ashe was too spooked by the monastery at night to even think about sneaking around in the dark. Sylvain was a possibility, though she was almost certain that he was either dead asleep, or with some lovestruck maiden. That only left…

Byleth placed her hand on the door, which was propped open with a haphazardly placed leather shield, and leaned forward to peer through the crack. The room was dimly lit by an assortment of candles that were dangerously close to burning out, but she could make out a figure amongst the shadows.

Felix’s dark hair was down from its ponytail, glued to his skin with a sheen of sweat. He held a training sword in his hand, which he was repeatedly swinging against one of the training dummies. Each blow against the mannequin punctuated the air with the sound of a loud  _ thwack _ , the exact noise that initially drew her to the training grounds. 

He’d been so quiet since the battle of Grondor Field, but she didn’t blame him in the slightest. For weeks after Jeralt died, she only emerged from her room to teach, train, and piss. Mercedes and Annette would leave trays of food outside her door, but they mostly went untouched. She spent hours in those very training grounds, breaking wooden sword after wooden sword to just feel something other than emptiness. 

_ Thwack! _

The sword struck the mannequin with such force that it shattered along the shaft, sending splinters every which way. Felix, however, didn’t seem to notice as he continued his assault again, and again, and again. 

A strangled sob erupted from his throat as he sunk to his knees. The broken sword clattered to the ground next to him, forgotten for a moment while he let the tears fall.

Byleth had never seen Felix cry before, not even when he took an arrow to the shoulder that nearly killed him. He just pulled it out and kept going, fighting through the pain. Felix was like a force of nature—unstoppable, insatiable… but now she could see that he was human. So very  _ human. _

The door creaked as she slipped inside the sanctuary of the training grounds. Felix scrambled to his feet, the splintered sword already in his hands. The ragged edge was pointed in Byleth’s direction, his catlike amber eyes narrowed on her. 

“Go away,” Felix snapped. His arm shook as he took a step closer, the shattered blade still aimed at her throat.

Byleth didn’t move, didn’t even  _ flinch. _ She knew that he’d never hurt her, despite his abrasive tone.

“Felix…”

“I said,” he spat, “go  _ away.” _

Okay. So he didn’t want to talk.  _ Good.  _ Neither did she. Instead Byleth drew the blade at her hip, a short but cruel dagger that Jeralt had given to her for one of her unnumbered birthdays, and charged forward. 

Felix parried with the scrap of wood in his hands, knocking her blade out of the way. Byleth used the shift in her weight to spin out of his reach, then hooked her heel around his ankle to pull him down. He failed to falter and lashed back at her with the splintered end. The ragged edge scraped against her unguarded forearm. 

She hissed like a cat and ducked out of the way. It was almost like a dance, the steps between them. Forward, back, up, down. She wound up like she was going to strike with the dagger in her right hand, but when he went to guard she wound up and socked him in the jaw with her left. That was one of the things he always said he admired about her. She could fight dirty, could bite and kick and claw her way out of any situation like a caged animal. Wild, feral,  _ free. _

Felix landed on his back, Byleth on top of him with the blade pressed against the smooth expanse of his throat. He swallowed against the blade, chest heaving as he struggled to regain his breath. 

“Yield,” she ordered.

“No.” 

Byleth pressed the knife harder into his skin, this time drawing a thin line of crimson across his pale neck. Maybe this wasn’t what he needed, maybe this wasn’t the way to solve grief, but this was the language that both she and him spoke. Words weren’t enough, not here, not now. Blades, battle, the sharp sting of metal on metal… that’s what spoke to them.

Felix’s hand shot up and swatted the dagger away like it was nothing. Byleth turned her head for the briefest moment, only to find the weight underneath her shifting. He flipped her over into the dirt, her mint-colored hair splayed behind her head like a halo, and stared down into her sea-green eyes.

“Why are you here?” he barked, his face twisted in anger. “I told you to fuck off!”

“You shouldn’t be alone.”

“If you’re worried about me turning into our dear boar prince, you can save your breath,” Felix’s dark hair danced against her brow as he leaned closer, a growl low in his throat. “I’d sooner die than wind up like him.” 

“You’re grieving.”

“I’m not.”

“Oh?” Byleth quirked an eyebrow as she turned her gaze to the discarded training sword by her head. “Then what do you call this?”

“Training.” He slid his hands off of her wrists and pulled back, leaving her just enough room to pull herself to her feet. She made her way over to the rack of swords by the wall, and tossed a fresh wooden one in his direction. He caught it with very little flourish and tested the weight in his hands. 

“You want to train?” she asked as she chose her own sword. “Then let’s train.” 

Felix wasted no time charging forward, his blade crossing hers with a raucous  _ clang. _ He pulled back and sent a flurry of blows her way, each of them sidestepped in rapid succession. One, two, three…

“You’re not focused,” Byleth said as she slammed the blade of her training sword against Felix’s back. He teetered off balance for half a moment, then spun around to catch her weapon against his. 

He gave a hollow laugh, his lips curled back into a snarl. “What are you expecting me to say to that,  _ Professor?” _

Truth be told, she wasn’t sure. Despite her five-year slumber, she felt she knew Felix well. He was a lot like her in a lot of ways, preferring sparring to socializing. She always felt that there was so much that could be said by way of crossing blades, things that words could never cover. 

He came at her again with a newfound vigor, shouting as his sword clanged against hers once, twice— She swung with all her might and knocked the weapon from his hands, sending it flying to whatever crevice her dagger must have wandered off to. Felix fell to his knees, head bowed, and she pressed the tip of the blade against his throat once more. 

Byleth slid the wooden blade up under his chin, forcing him to look at her, to watch her. Silvery tears shone in his amber eyes, but they refused to fall. The sword tumbled out of her hands, and she fell to her knees in front of him, her small hand searching for his. 

“It’s okay to break, you know,” she mumbled. 

His fingers threaded through hers. They were rough, calloused from years of swordplay, but warm. So  _ fucking _ warm that she almost couldn’t bear it. She was so cold and still, like the sea just before the storm… and he was the hurricane that sent crashing waves to shore.

“He was a damn fool, Byleth.” Felix leaned forward, so that his scalding forehead touched hers. 

She sucked in a breath, her whole body shuddering. He’d never called her by her name before, and now of all times was when he decided to change that? It made her unbeating heart ache in a way that she couldn’t express, a way that she didn’t have words to describe. 

“Why did he have to die?” A sob wracked his chest, and finally the tears fell. “My father died for him! He shouldn’t— He knew!” 

His words hit her square in the chest, a reminder of the throbbing loneliness that Jeralt’s death left in its wake. He knew how much she needed him, how they were a team. It felt like a betrayal, felt like he left her all alone to face all the fucked up things that he left behind. She knew this feeling, knew it intimately, like an old friend. 

“I know.” Byleth swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. 

“I hated him. I hated how he talked about Glenn.  _ He died like a knight _ . Well, he shouldn’t have died at all. He knew that we needed him! And—” Felix choked on his words, his face red and blotchy with tears. “I needed to mourn, and all he did was praise him. And I hated him for it. And I still hate him, for dying the same way. For dying for that…  _ monster. _ ” 

She flinched at the mention of Dimitri. She couldn’t even deny that the prince was the elephant in the room, that his actions made everyone in the monastery feel the need to walk on eggshells. There were similar things she wanted to shout about him, but she couldn’t. After all, Dimitri was broken too.

“My father always liked him better you know. It was always  _ Dimitri this _ , and  _ Dimitri that _ . It wasn’t fair. It was never fair. I hate him too.” Felix had never talked this much in the time that she had known him, never shown this much emotion. She wasn’t sure how to handle it, didn’t know what to do or say to help him. “That damned  _ boar _ is the reason everything was taken from me.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. 

He shrugged her off, but kept her hand in his. “I don’t want your apology. You weren’t the reason my father died. You aren’t the reason I’m alone.” 

_ Alone. _ She looked down at their entwined fingers and let out a low, morbid chuckle. After all this time, he still thought that he was alone? 

“What’s so funny?” he snapped, his eyes narrowed on hers.

Byleth thought for a moment, back to the night of the ball all those years ago. She had run into him in the goddess tower by accident, and instead of sharing the traditional romantic time together, he told her that he wouldn’t stop until he was the reason she tasted defeat. How he was more comfortable holding a sword than a woman’s hand. He told her that if she expected romance, that she better find someone else, and now… 

“You said you’d never hold my hand.”

“That was a long time ago,” he coughed, “and you were the one that grabbed my hand.”

Byleth didn’t bother to correct him. That wasn’t what he needed right now. 

He pulled himself out of her grasp and brushed his hair off of his sweat-soaked forehead. He looked so different in the low light of the training grounds like this. Smaller, softer,  _ younger. _ It made her stomach flip, and if her heart could beat, she was sure that it would be racing. 

She wished that she could give him advice, sage words about how she made it past Jeralt’s death, but there was nothing to say. She tried to avenge him, and that didn’t solve a damn thing. Even if it had, there was nothing she could do. It was her fault that he felt like this her fault that this started.

She was the one that killed Randolph, the one who let Fleche infiltrate their ranks. Without Byleth, Rodrigue would still be there. Without Byleth, Felix would have been able to avenge his father. Why did this hurt so damn much? Normally the lives she took didn’t affect her, but in this instance—

_ Oh. _ The realization hit her like a ton of bricks as she watched him stretch to his feet, lean and nimble as a cat. She had never been in love before, but… somehow she was almost certain that that was the reason for the gaping wound that throbbed in her chest. 

Byleth stood and reached for his shoulder, but before her fingers could even brush against the luscious furs that framed his neck, he had her bested. Her back slammed against the wooden walls of the training grounds, his face dangerously close to hers. 

“Yield…” Felix’s breath came out in hot spurts, as if he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing or what he even wanted. He sounded like he was about to collapse, and maybe he was. Byleth couldn’t remember the last time she saw him at the dining hall since Rodrigue died, and if the bags under his eyes were any clue, he hadn’t slept in quite a bit either. 

She shook her head, her soft green bangs brushing against his forehead as she moved. “No.” 

He looked as if he was about to say something, but instead he crushed his mouth against hers. The tears that slid down his face peppered the kiss with the pungent taste of salt and sadness and desperation. They fell to their knees again, legs finally giving way to exhaustion. 

“I love you,” he whispered underneath his breath, “and I hate you for making me say it.” 

Byleth sat back and brushed her fingers against her now kiss-swollen lips, her mind in a flurry. This wasn’t the time, wasn’t the place, and yet all she could think about was how she wanted him to do that again. Instead, she rose to her feet and held out her hand, her sea-colored eyes level with his. 

“I—I love you too.” The words tasted like honey and Felix’s favorite four-spice tea, and nearly left her breathless. She’d never said them before, not even to Jeralt (a regret that she carried since the day that he died.) “But I— You—  _ We. _ We should get some sleep.” 

Felix grasped her hand and followed her back to her quarters, the sun threatening to rise over the horizon. He collapsed in her bed with all of his clothes on, and she followed seconds after. Everything might have been broken and fucked up beyond repair, but there was one thing Byleth knew for certain.

They were no longer alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Did you know that apparently no one has transcripts of Felix's goddess tower scene? Because I do. It's been a hot second since I played Azure Moon so if the timeline is wrong I'm sorry. I just wanted to let !! Felix !! Cry!!!


End file.
